Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with the BBC in any way (sadly), I don't own Merlin or the characters and my use of them is not for profit or material privilege.

"Tell me a story, Merlin?"

"Go to sleep, Morgana."

The ground is hard and full of stones. The high, sloping walls of the cave are damp, dripping with the moss that lumps itself along the stony arches. Morgana cannot sleep.

"I don't want more nightmares," she says, lying on her side with eyes wide open and one pale hand propped beneath her dark hair.

Merlin, beside her, is on his back, chest bare and open, hands linked across his body. Like a dead person, thinks Morgana. Like a corpse. Or a statue.

"Once upon a time," begins Merlin, the flickering light from their small fire casting shadows across his face. Shattering and restoring. He is her beginning, and her ending. As she can never be his: his destiny lies with the king. The prophets did not convene before pouring their foresight into crystal and stoppering it. Would things have been better, if they had?

"Once upon a time," and Merlin turns to face Morgana, letting the stones bruise his hip. "There was a woman. Not the prettiest in the village, but she was unmarked by pox and that was enough for most. And she was brave...oh, was she brave. It was late one night when he knocked on her door, seeking shelter and hope and forgetfulness. A Dragonspeaker, hunted from his home. It was said that when a man with dark hair steps over your hearth it is good luck, but only if you care for him, and make him happy."

"Is it really?" Morgana asks, running one long, jointed finger over Merlin's shoulder. There is dirt under her nails. "Are you my good luck, Merlin?"

"Oh, only if you care for me. Hush - what happens next matters. She gave him some bread, and some beer, and a place by her fire. It started with a kiss, like it always does, and it ended with a baby. So when the man left, he was pursued by more than just a king.

When the baby was born, the woman did not scream or cry out, not once. Not even when he was born with a spider's web wet caul over his face, keeping him blue until the old midwife slapped his back. Not even when he waved his tiny fist and made sparks jump from the fire. You see, there was something special about this tiny bairn. His eyes were golden."

"Was that all that was special?"

"No. But it made him different, and that was what mattered. He grew up, apart, as though the mark of the caul had left a bruise across his face. No brothers, no sisters, no father. A friend, though, who would have died for him, and later did die for him. Just a boy with golden eyes, and a brave woman. And magic. Villages hold secrets, but they hold them uneasily, and not forever: when the woman grew too afraid for him in the village, she sent him to an old friend, who had kept many secrets for many people, and could be trusted with another one. And the boy set out, with only a name and a bedroll and fire in his eyes that wouldn't stop burning. He walked all the way to the city."

"What was the city called?"

"Camelot."

"What did he find there? In Camelot?"

"The king who would be his destiny. The other side of his coin."

"Who else?"

"The wise man who had kept so many secrets. The girl who would marry the king one day. And -" Merlin rolls back, flat on his back, seeing nothing but the high roof above them.

"And?"

"Oh, and the Lady Morgana, of course."

"Who was she, Merlin?" Morgana's voice is filled with pain. Something lost.

Merlin's reply is hollow; as emotionless as he can make it. "She was good. She was kind and compassionate and she cared. She had fire in her eyes, too."

"What happened to her?" They both hear the fear. If there had been another choice, would they have chosen better?

"I don't know. I guess she grew up."

An owl hoots, low and mournful. There is a bell tolling, somewhere, but it's better not to hear such things. Tolling bells never spell anything good for those who listen to them.

"Tell me another one?"

"No. You tell me."

"What shall I tell you?"

"Tell me what happened to her."

"Who?"

"You know who."

Morgana breathes in, listens to the crackle and hiss of the flames. She sits up, adds some dry bracken and watches the fire jump. Merlin would have seen the fire, reflected in her eyes, but he doesn't look. If you don't look, can you be blamed for what you didn't see?

"This is a story I read in a book."

"Does it have a name?"

"No. It's about how to make a ghost."

"Did you really read it?"

"Maybe."

They watch the flames. They don't look at each other, or out the door. They don't want to see the light coming over the hill.

"Once upon a time, a woman didn't love the man in the tall castle by the salt sea. She loved someone else, and he loved her, and they never stopped to think how wrong they were. It started with a kiss, like it always does, and it ended with a baby. She came kicking and screaming through her mother's cervix. A dent in the top of her head, as though her head were a grail to be drunk from," Morgana's voice wavers, doesn't break.

"This is how to make a ghost: take a girl with fire in her golden eyes and a heart that beats differently from everybody else's. Make her mother hate her so much she turns away from her screams, then kill both her parents. Leave her alone with an uncle who watches her with hungry, greedy eyes. Leave her with a king, who knows how to take what he wants. He will see her grow up with the casual cruelty that only those with much power and little heart can muster. Give her a brother: they were friends, once. Make her walk away from him, it doesn't matter how. Throw her a prophecy, if you must. Throw her a sister like you'd throw a dog the scraps from the table.

Make her watch, while people with hearts like hers, and eyes like hers, die in flames and under axes.

Give her one man who truly loves her, with purity and hope and care. One man, a good man who keeps enough secrets for enough people that two more fire filled eyes are not so much of a burden. Give him to her. Then give him someone else to love."

"Oh, Morgana."

"When her soul empties out, don't bother to fill it back up. When she leaves them all, call her evil." Her voice is lilting as a lullaby. As hard as the stone above them. As mournful as the church bells and as abrasive as the salt seas that imprisoned her mother.

"Your turn. Tell me one more?" Morgana begs, and Merlin finds he cannot refuse her.

"This is a story about names."

"About names?"

"Naming. When a child is born, they are given a name like a gift, wrapped up in hope and love. Or, sometimes, in disappointment."

"You think only sometimes?"

"Perhaps. When a child grows, their name grows with them. It changes, to fit them, to clothe their souls like rags clothe their bodies. But a name isn't enough. You need a face, too. Once upon a time, a young man went to a dragon and he asked, 'How do you find someone, and keep her safe? How do you fill up a soul that has been emptied?' The dragon said to him, 'You need three things to fill up a soul. You need a name, a true name, freely given. You must have a face, and hands or eyes to see it by. You must have love.'

So the boy went, and he looked at her face; he memorised her until he saw her on the back of his eyelids when he lay down to sleep at night. He was given her name, her true name, her name for all time. And he took the love. As much as he needed, and then some."
"But it wasn't enough, to fill up the emptiness in her, was it, Merlin?"

"I don't know why."

"Is it true? What the dragon said?"

"It's true that you can't find someone without a face and a name. If you have only a name, you will pass them on the street. Only a face, you can't call to them, when you find them."

"I have a name to find, but no face to go with it."

"Emrys," says Merlin.

Morgana sits up, straight and sharp. "What do you know of Emrys?"

Merlin doesn't reply, but Morgana isn't expecting him to. He's too loyal to the king to offer any help to the king's enemies. Besides, hasn't he just told her what she needs? A name, but a face too? Morgana has no face for the name of Emrys.

"I don't know anything."

"You're too loyal, Merlin, that's your problem."

"Maybe. Is that such a bad thing? To be loyal to your friends?"

"It is when you're not loyal to all of them."

They are both silent, remembering the same thing. The same day. Merlin has hidden the hemlock at the back of the cabinet and he winces whenever he sees it.

Merlin ventures, "I have another story, Morgana. A new one, with a better ending. We can find a new story, together."

"No," Morgana turns away, curling onto her side so she can't see Merlin's face.

"Once upon a time, an empty girl with fire in her eyes made a mistake. She did the wrong things for the right reasons, but she repented. She began using her magic for good - "

"No."

"She asked forgiveness from the king. She made things better for people! She filled up her soul with love and -"

"I said NO!" Morgana's voice is full of broken glass.

"I told you already," she says, and her face looks too young to be filled with such bitterness and such sadness, "There is no other way."

They are restless. Merlin stands up, pushing the blankets off and finding his shirt and trousers. He puts out the fire. Morgana sits up, pulls the blanket around her shoulders like a shawl. She asks, "A name, and a face, but what about love? Do you need love?"

Merlin is disappointed, and it makes his voice rough when he replies, "Would you know what love is anymore? You, the witch Morgana? The high priestess of the Old Religion who seeks only Arthur's downfall?"

"Don't be so harsh."

"Don't be so cruel."

Merlin walks to the edge of the cave, steps out into the sunrise. Behind him, Morgana stands up, dropping the blanket from her shoulders. She looks vulnerable, proud skin bruised.

"I love you, Merlin."

But Merlin shakes his head as he walks away. He sounds tired, and very old. 'I've given you enough chances, Morgana," he says.